


like the world is trying to spit you out

by rolie_polie



Series: my mind is an ecosystem (and it's all burning down) [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Followed by a significantly more light hearted one, Happy Ending, Hinata is Struggling tm, I'm a slut for happy endings catch me never writing a bad ending for anything ever, Like a teeny little bit of violence it barely even counts it just gets a lil physical, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Illness, Minor Violence, Panic Attacks, Serious Discussion of Mental Illness, Soft Kageyama Tobio, Swearing, Various mental illnesses mentioned, fellas is it gay to call ur volleyball counterpart a zombie then give him a piggyback ride home, lowkey getting together but not really cause theyre dum dums
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:22:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29688750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rolie_polie/pseuds/rolie_polie
Summary: It's easy to feel alone. Sometimes you just have to be reminded that you're not.or,Something's up with Hinata, but he won't talk to anyone. Kageyama is determined to figure out what it is.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou & Kageyama Tobio, Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio
Series: my mind is an ecosystem (and it's all burning down) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2187831
Comments: 8
Kudos: 107





	like the world is trying to spit you out

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this almost a year ago during Lockdown Season One bc I started rewatching Haikyuu for the first time since I was like fifteen and bitch these stupid volleyball boys will live in my heart until I am Old and Grey. Anyway then life happened and I stopped writing, but yay, free time and motivation returned and now it's finished and I'm very happy with it so I hope you like it! Now I just have to actually catch up on Haikyuu lmao.
> 
> Content warning for discussions of mental illness and the depiction of a panic attack.

Nobody really thinks anything of it the first time Hinata slips out of practice, whispering something to Takeda and disappearing through the sliding metal doors.

He doesn’t come back, but they all assume it’s just a doctor’s appointment, a make-up test, a stomach ache, the dentist. Maybe he’s got a nasty cavity from all the junk food he eats, Tsukishima gibes. Nobody is worried. And even when it happens again only a few days later, the team brushes it off. They’re focused on their practice – they have a match with Nekoma coming up.

It’s when it continues to happen that they begin to grow confused, then agitated, then worried. Hinata’s sudden exits become a regular occurrence; sometimes he leaves mid practice for multiple days in a row, dropping the ball mid spike and dashing out of the gymnasium. Sometimes it doesn’t happen for a week or two. Sometimes he misses practice altogether. Whatever the reason, it leaves a sour taste in his teammates’ mouths. It turns into a distraction, affecting their morale, their technique – not to mention they’ve all noticed Hinata isn’t performing nearly as well as he usually does. Where his speed and agility normally serve his spikes, he’s become more fumbling than he ever was before learning to work alongside a team. He moves too slow, or he jumps a little too far from the ball, or he misses it entirely on the downswing.

It’s really starting to bum everyone out, to be honest.

Tanaka’s the first one to speak up about it. After another afternoon of clumsy spikes, followed by Hinata shuffling out of the gym with a nod from Takeda, the second year approaches the teacher. His eyebrows are pinched together, arms crossed.

“Oi, Take-chan, what’s goin’ on with him?” He asks.

“Don’t worry about it, Tanaka. It’s none of your concern,” Takeda says. He’s smiling, but his tone is stern – almost defensive.

“C’mon man, he’s been skippin’ out on practice for over a month! And he isn’t telling any of us anything. Can’t you tell us something?” Tanaka presses on.

Usually, by now, Daichi or Suga could be expected to step in and tell Tanaka to shut up and mind his business. But even they’ve come to a halt on the court, watching Takeda with expectant and curious stares. At that, Takeda crosses his arms and sighs.

“Alright, listen up everyone,” he calls.

The team flocks to him, birds to breadcrumbs. Eyes wide and blazing, shoulders tense with frustration. More than anything, they’re confused. And the confusion is scary.

“I realize that Hinata’s been… underperforming recently,” Takeda begins, “and I know it’s been tough on all of you. We have a tournament coming up, and the pressure is stressful. I understand that. But what’s going on with Hinata is truly nobody’s business except his own. It’s up to him if he wants to tell you all. But until then, you just… you have to respect his privacy, alright? And do your best to work with him. I’m sorry, but that’s really all I can say.”

Shoulders slump, sighs of disappointment wave through the team. Some scowl. Some shake their heads and frown. Some – Tsukishima – shrug, noncommittal. Takeda turns to Ukai, searching for his support. Ukai stands straighter and clears his throat.

“Alright, Asahi and Tanaka, take some extra time with your spikes over the next little while. Everyone else, keep working hard and be patient. Hinata should be back in good shape soon. But if not, we need to be prepared, got it?” he says.

He’s met with a chorus of sullen “yes sir”s. Everyone shuffles back to the court, and Takeda sighs into the palm of his hand.

“You alright Sensei?” Ukai mumbles, side eyeing the teacher.

“Yeah.” Takeda nods, pushing his glasses up his nose. He says, “I just wish he’d talk to them. Poor kid.”

Ukai grunts, tilting his chin to look up at the ceiling.

“That’s teenage boys for you,” he says, clucking his tongue, “they’re only just learning that they have each other’s backs in volleyball. It’s a pretty big leap to recognize that about other matters of life.”

Takeda hums softly.

If only they would realize it sooner.

* * *

Kageyama’s getting pretty sick of this disappearing act.

He’s sick of Takeda and Ukai brushing off everyone’s concerns. He’s sick of his teammates casting sidelong glances at one another, communicating their worry in silence. He’s so goddamn sick of trying to act like nothing’s wrong.

They have a game coming up. An important one. And here they are, letting one of their most critical players slack off and skip practice. Without Hinata in top shape, half of their attacks will be rendered almost entirely useless. And yet nobody says a word about it. Coach Ukai brushes Kageyama off when he approaches him with his frustration. The rest of the team stews in the tension of wondering, just _what the fuck is going on?_ But they don’t talk about it. And nobody asks Hinata. And Hinata says nothing.

Kageyama is sick of it.

So when the opportunity to apprehend Hinata arises, he takes it.

It happens during a three-on-three practice match. Hinata’s turn to serve. He stands back, the ball between his hands, staring across the court at the net.

“Hinata, nice serve!”

On Kageyama’s left, Nishinoya gives Hinata a thumbs up, grinning. Kageyama only glowers, refusing to look back at the middle blocker. It’s all he can do not to holler, steam pouring from his ears and shaking Hinata by the collar.

_What’s wrong with you, huh? Where do you keep going? What’s more important than this? Than all of us?_

They wait, five seconds, ten seconds, twenty, thirty. The ball never leaves Hinata’s hands. Kageyama finally looks back, furrowed brow and furious eyes and all, ready to scold him. He’s stopped in his tracks at the sight of Hinata.

The fiery middle blocker looks utterly pallid. Like his flame has been snuffed out. His eyes are wide, staring down at the ball between his hands – and Kageyama can’t be sure from this distance, but he sees the slightest tremor in his fingers, like he’s shaking.

Nobody can say a word to him before Hinata is letting the ball slip from his hands.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

And then he’s gone. He didn’t even stop to speak to Takeda this time.

Kageyama’s sick of this shit.

“Oi!” he shouts.

Nobody can stop him from following Hinata out the gymnasium doors, chasing him down. And Jesus Christ he’s fast, but their morning jogs together – races – have prepared Kageyama for this moment. Hinata may be ridiculously fast, but Kageyama has no trouble keeping up with him. Come to think of it, as he chases after Hinata, he realizes it’s been awhile since they’ve run to school together.

He wonders when they stopped.

 _Why_ did they stop?

“Hey, moron!” he shouts.

Kageyama shoots his arm out. He grabs Hinata by the wrist, and tugs him so hard he briefly worries that he pulled the middle blocker’s shoulder right out of its socket. Hinata yelps, spinning on his heel at the force of Kageyama’s grasp, nearly crashing right into him.

It’s convenient for Hinata, though, giving him the momentum needed to shove Kageyama as hard as he can. His eyes are wild, his chest is heaving, and yeah, he’s _definitely_ shaking.

“Get off of me Bakayama!”

He manages to shake Kageyama’s hand off, but it doesn’t stop him. Kageyama dives forward, grabbing Hinata by his collar and pulling him into his space, the tight feeling in his chest and stomach blinding him to any reason.

“What’s wrong with you, huh?” he spits, “you can’t even serve the damn ball anymore? What’s your deal, Hinata?”

He’s in Hinata’s face, shouting and sneering. He almost misses the way his teammate shivers, pupils blown wide, small fingers prying at Kageyama’s to try and escape him.

“Let go!” Hinata pleads, “I’m sorry, okay? Just let go of me!”

When he finally manages to pull away from Kageyama, the setter watches with wide eyes as Hinata’s knees buckle, as he turns around to sink to the ground and heave. His behaviour for the last month has been unusual for him, but this… this is even more strange. Kageyama forgets to react, to say a word, so thrown off by Hinata’s urgency.

Hinata is small. But he’s never _acted_ small before. He’s loud and bright and excitable – his personality makes him tall. But now, right now, as he clutches at his chest and trembles in the grass at Kageyama’s feet, he looks positively _tiny_. It’s more than enough for Kageyama to forget that he’s angry. Something’s wrong – something beyond neglecting practice.

Kageyama shuffles around Hinata’s slumped figure, crouching to his level. He reaches out to touch his hand, but Hinata wrenches it away from him.

“ _Don’t_ ,” he gasps, “don’t touch me.”

Kageyama pulls back.

“Okay, okay, fine,” he mutters, “what’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing!” Hinata protests, “just leave me alone!”

“You look sick.”

Hinata doesn’t say anything. His hand twists in the fabric of his shirt, and he pulls a long breath in through pursed lips, pushing it out in a shuddering sigh. He does it again. The tremor in his fingers doesn’t go away, though, nor does the pallor of his skin.

“I said go away,” his voice is meek, just short of a whine.

“Tell me what’s wrong with you, then I will.”

It’s a bargain, and Hinata hardly seems in any condition to be bartering the terms of his solitude, but Kageyama’s sick of this shit. Does Hinata even realize that his constant games of hooky are affecting the team? The least they all deserve is a goddamned explanation.

“None of your business, asshole. Fuck- off,” he cuts himself off with a groan, palm crossing over his mouth.

That’s it. He tried being nice.

Kageyama shoves Hinata’s shoulder, his previously snuffed anger reignited by the insult. It’s surprising how easily Hinata is thrown off center by the movement, wobbling backwards from crouching on the balls of his feet to slipping onto his butt.

“None of my business? Fuck you, it’s my business! You’re screwing all of us over by running off three damn times a week! You can’t spike for shit and, apparently, you can’t even serve either. The fuck is your deal, Hinata?” he shouts.

It’s weird that the silence isn’t filled immediately. Usually, when Kageyama and Hinata tussle, it’s rapid fire yelling, or pulling and pushing hands and feet. The air between them is never as still as it is now. But Hinata isn’t looking at him, isn’t speaking, and his shoulders heave with uneven breaths.

The playing field isn’t even this time, only Kageyama can’t figure out why.

Finally, Hinata looks up. His eyes are rimmed red, glassy, and his face is flushed. His lips look swollen, maybe from chewing. There’s four crescent marks in his cheek, where his hand gripped a moment before. He looks afraid. And angry. And yet, altogether absent, meeting Kageyama’s eyes but not really seeing him.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, “Sorry Kage-”

He jerks sideways, shoulders hunching, hand grabbing his stomach as his body rejects his lunch and he vomits onto dry grass.

“Shit,” Kageyama stammers.

Hinata’s cheeks are wet by the time he’s finished, and he reaches up with trembling fingers to wipe his face. He chokes out a groan and spits. The air smells sour.

“Please just go away, Kageyama. I’m begging, I’m literally begging you, go away,” he cries.

Kageyama’s starting to think, maybe he should listen. Maybe it really is none of his business. Maybe, if Hinata wants to be alone so badly, he should be. But he doesn’t budge. Even though the smell of vomit is starting to make his stomach turn, and seeing Hinata cry makes his shoulders tense, he stays put and stares his fiery counterpart down.

“You should go to the nurse,” he says.

“No. I’m not sick.”

“What do you mean you’re not sick? You just threw up! You look like shit,” Kageyama insists.

“Thanks,” Hinata scoffs. He taps his knees, and breathes out slowly, “I need to move,” he whispers. He’s not talking to Kageyama.

When Hinata stands up and begins to walk away, Kageyama follows him. They don’t walk together. Kageyama trails behind, watching the back of Hinata’s head with narrowed eyes. The other has stopped protesting his presence, but he won’t look back, and he won’t speak to him. When they reach the water fountains, Kageyama realizes he can hear Hinata murmuring something to himself. He stands next to the fountain and watches, while Hinata sticks his head under the stream, his shoulders rising and falling with deliberate sluggishness, and his lips moving as he whispers.

“The drain, the water, Kageyama, the grass, the concrete,”

“What are you doing?” Kageyama asks.

“Shut up!” Hinata snaps, then breathes in, hands clutching metal. He goes back to whispering, “the fountain, the tap, the water, my shirt. Birds, Kageyama tapping his foot, the water. Sweat, rain. Vomit.”

He stops for a second. Kageyama thinks about saying something. And then Hinata repeats all of it. Twice. Then three times. Four. And finally, he takes one more deep breath, and it sounds final. He pulls his head out from under the stream and turns off the water. His movements are slow, tired, as he presses his back to the wall beside Kageyama, and slides to the ground. He’s certain that he still isn’t welcome, but Kageyama takes a seat beside him.

Eventually, the silence becomes unbearable. Dark clouds are rolling in above them, and the sun is starting to set, and Hinata’s eyes look _dead_. It’s all wrong.

“Hinata,” Kageyama says, “ _please_. What’s going on?”

“It’s…” Hinata grimaces, threading his fingers together and fidgeting, “it’s just- I just- I don’t want you all to think differently about me. I’m _not_ different. I’m not.”

Even as he says it, it’s not hard to tell he doesn’t believe his own words.

“I won’t tell anyone, then. But just tell me, because otherwise I _will_ think differently about you, because you’re sucking as a teammate right now.”

Hinata sniffs. He taps his fingers together and looks up at the sky. The sunset is obscured by clouds now. A breeze dances across the field and brushes through their hair. Hinata rubs his arms as gooseflesh rises.

“I know…” he murmurs hoarsely, “I know.”

He pulls his knees closer to his chest, rubs his hands over all the bare patches of skin not protected from the wind. He didn’t grab his jacket when he ran from the gym. Kageyama watches him, and Hinata doesn’t look back.

“I started having panic attacks,” he says, finally, “a couple months ago. I didn’t know what they were, but that’s what my doctor said. And I don’t know why they happen. I just- I can be doing anything, literally anything, and suddenly everything around me feels like it’s not real and like I’m just- I don’t _fit_ , and my stomach starts to do flips all over the place and I get scared and I can’t breathe properly and it always feels like the only right thing to do is run away until I don’t feel like that anymore.”

“Oh.”

“I know, it’s stupid,” Hinata rests his forehead on his knees. His voice becomes muffled, “it’s stupid and I should just be able to suck it up and keep playing.”

Kageyama shakes his head.

“No… I think I’ve had one of those before. It was scary. I thought I was having a heart attack,” he says.

“You did?” Hinata looks up, finally meeting Kageyama’s eyes.

“At my middle school. It sucked. You get them all the time?”

“Ah, yeah… I tried coming back to practice a few times. After. But once they go away, all I want to do is go to sleep. I feel like a zombie. And zombies can’t play volleyball. At least, not well,” Hinata explains. His comparison makes Kageyama snicker.

“Is that why you stopped running to school with me?” He can’t help but ask.

Hinata’s eyes widen, and his cheeks flush. He claps his hands together.

“Sorry, Kageyama!”

“I’m not mad. I just wanted to know.”

“Oh.”

Kageyama looks up at the sky, just in time to feel a raindrop on his nose. Any minute now, there could be a downpour. He glances at Hinata, and the middle blocker is shivering. It’s time to go.

“Okay,” he grunts, pushing himself to a crouch, back to Hinata, “get on, zombie.”

“What? No, Kageyama, you don’t have t-”

“Shut up. Zombies don’t talk. Get on.”

With a low grumble of, “I’m not _actually_ a zombie, moron,” Hinata climbs up onto Kageyama’s back, wrapping his arms around his neck, and the setter stands.

The rain is coming down in a sprinkle and the wind is picking up, causing both boys to shiver as Kageyama walks in the direction of home. Hinata winds his arms around Kageyama’s neck a little tighter, trapping in what heat he can. His heart thumps against the setter’s back. They don’t talk anymore.

* * *

A few days go by. Things don’t improve, necessarily, but at least now, Kageyama knows what’s wrong. There’s no more confused anger, at least not for him. For the rest of the team, though, nothing has changed, the tension in the air seeming to only get worse. And now, they’re starting to ask _him_ for answers, because he’s the one who followed Hinata, and didn’t come back. He doesn’t give them those answers, of course. But it’s hard, when he knows that he’s what’s standing between them and answers that just might begin to improve their morale again.

He’s starting to think he should say something.

He doesn’t have to, though.

Nearly a week after his conversation with Hinata, he’s sitting on the gym floor, stretching, mulling over what to do while the team practices their serves or stretches their legs around him. Then, the gym door slides open, and Hinata stomps in.

His eyes are shining, his brow furrowed. Kageyama perks up and watches him. The middle blocker slams his water bottle on the bench next to him.

“Hello!” he shouts, grabbing the attention of the team. He plants his hands on his hips and screws his eyes shut, “I know you’re all confused and kind of mad at me, so just so you know, I have a panic disorder! That’s why I keep disappearing! There you go!”

A ball hits the floor and bounces across the gym, but otherwise, everything is silent. Nobody says anything, frozen, feet glued to the floor as they look at Hinata. Kageyama’s eyes sweep across the gym, gauging the reactions of his teammates. Most of their expressions are inscrutable. Then, Tsukishima hides a snicker behind his fist. Hinata’s lips twitch, his tough-as-nails expression looking like it’s seconds from dropping into yet another panic attack. Nishinoya springs up.

He plants himself beside Hinata, mirroring his stance.

“I have an eating disorder!” he shouts.

The gym is quiet for a moment longer. Asahi rubs his cheek, eyes darting around.

“I… have anxiety,” he offers.

Suga claps him on the shoulder and smirks.

“We know, Asahi,” he looks at Hinata, who’s eyes have opened, shell shocked, “I have depression,” Suga confesses.

Yamaguchi pipes up from where he’s sitting cross legged on the floor.

“I get panic attacks sometimes, too, Hinata,” he says.

Tsukishima lets out a long, suffering sigh, rolling his neck. He averts his eyes, then mumbles, “PTSD.”

They all are quiet, waiting to see if anyone else has something to say. When nobody speaks up, Hinata’s expression brightens, his mouth open in surprise.

“Ohh… so… it’s not weird!” he exclaims.

“Not at all, Hinata,” Takeda pipes up, “having a mental illness is just as normal as having a physical illness. They’re just harder to see, so we sometimes don’t talk about them as much as we should. But they deserve attention, and support. Everyone,” he smiles warmly, “thank you for sharing. I’m proud of all of you.”

“…Take-chan’s getting sappy,” Tanaka sings.

And Hinata laughs.

* * *

“Kageyama!”

It’s getting dark, and Kageyama is about to head home. He turns around at the sound of Hinata’s voice, but he doesn’t actually have a chance to see him before the middle blocker is pouncing, nearly bowling Kageyama over with a hug. He just barely manages to steady himself.

“What are you doing, you idiot?” he protests.

He doesn’t pull away though. Not that he could if he tried. Hinata has him in a deadlock, arms wound tight around his neck and legs nearly dangling as he tries to reach Kageyama’s height. Kageyama has half a mind to smack him, but he hears a sob, and he decides to hug Hinata back instead – it’s the only thing that eases the sudden twisting knife of worry.

“Thank you,” Hinata says, “thank you, Kageyama.”

“What- what for?” Kageyama replies.

Hinata sniffles, his face pressed to the setter’s shoulder. Kageyama tries to get a look at his face, to read what’s going on in his head. He’s crying, but it looks like he’s smiling. That’s not a bad sign, he supposes.

“You were nice to me,” Hinata lets out a shuddering breath, “and it made me brave.”

Kageyama lets the hug last a moment longer, because it feels nice, but then he pulls away.

“Dumbass,” he murmurs, reaching to wipe the tears from Hinata’s cheeks, “you’re brave all on your own.”

Hinata smiles, all sunshine even in tears, and grabs Kageyama’s hand. He’s not one for big smiles and open affection, but Kageyama can’t help smiling back, just a bit. He gestures towards the road.

“Come on,” he says, “let’s go get meat buns.”

“Okay, Kageyama,” Hinata whispers.

They hold hands. And they walk in silence. And, together, they feel calm.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have a super intimate or personal experience with panic attacks myself, I mainly drew from research, media, and a few personal accounts I've heard over the years, so I hope I managed to communicate it with accuracy. Let me know if my depiction could be improved in any way. I'm lowkey considering writing more and exploring the experience of some of the other Karasuno members with their mentioned MIs, so idk, let me know if you'd read that if I decided to make this a short series or something ig??  
> Also I hope you didn't mind the lack of overwhelming fluff and romance, I threw in some crumbs bc You Deserve It but it didn't feel like I could really make that a focal point of the story because it just... wasn't the point.  
> Thanks for reading c:


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